


Are You Still In The Dark?

by BiPunk



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Cringe Factor 9000, Gay, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, May Be Completly Bad, Pining, Roses, Suicide, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, flower petals, original - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiPunk/pseuds/BiPunk
Summary: It had all started with a single petal.  It wasn’t much, just a single red petal, stark against the cool white marble of the bathroom. Yet, it killed him.





	Are You Still In The Dark?

It had all started with a single petal. It wasn’t much, just a single red petal, stark against the cool white marble of the bathroom. Yet, it killed him.  
It was 2031, London, England.

Roisin Brennan didn’t particularly care for love.  
He found it distracting and avoided it as actively as he could.

So, he felt trapped and stressed, being on the Tube to work, surrounded by couples. He sighed and held in his urge to retch until he arrived at his station.  
The Tube dinged to a stop and he stumbled out the door, lazily brushing his mass of dark brown hair out of his eyes. The buzz of London invaded his ears and he walked the short distance to work. 

The secretary waved as he passed and stood up as if to call out to him. He kept walking and with a crash, collided with another human, sending paper cascading to the floor.  
The person he collided with, let out a sharp cry and bent down quickly to retrieve the papers.  
He supposed that he should help, so he collected the remaining scattered papers and went to hand them over when he was met with big brown eyes.  
He felt a pang through his throat, and he had the sudden urge to gesticulate violently through his throat.

‘Sorry!’ He blinked, and the urge passed as suddenly as it came.  
The eyes belonged to a tall young man, with a of mass brown hair. He was peering at Rosin with a hint of fear lurking in his eyes. He cleared his throat, and held his hand out nervously for the papers, waiting for Rosin’s reaction.

Rosin wordlessly handed them to him, his hands softly brushing the stranger’s. ‘I-I’m Dan by the way.’ The stranger replied, his soft British accent and violet scent embedding itself in Rosin’s brain.

‘I’m Rosin. Are you… new here?’ Rosin asked curiously, as Dan tilted his head slightly upon hearing Rosin’s Irish accent.  
‘Oh… yup! I’m an intern.’ Dan replied cheerfully, smiling suddenly.  
‘Well, welcome.’ Rosin replied awkwardly, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes again.  
Dan smiled again, and the same familiar pang echoed down Rosin’s throat, like thorns tearing his throat from the inside out. 

‘Thanks! I’d better get going, Ms. Rhoda needs these.’  
Rosin rolled his eyes dramatically at the mention of Susan, and Dan giggled. ‘Seriously though, I have to go.’ Dan laughed, his brown eyes sparkling with joy. ‘I’ll see you around though, right?’ Dan asked, glimmering with hope.  
‘Of course.’ Rosin nodded, and Dan beamed, turning away and hurrying towards the elevator.

 

Rosin straightened his shirt and noticed the secretary from earlier, watching the scene, her eyes wide.  
He ignored her reaction and hurried up the stairs, to his desk.  
Rosin caught peeks of Dan throughout the day, and Dan’s cheerful personality brightened up the office it seemed.

Rosin felt the sharp sting in his throat suddenly every so often, but it passed as soon as he opened his mouth. He didn’t speak to Dan again.

He’d just arrived home, when his phone let out a ding, echoing throughout his empty, quiet apartment. Rosin took out his phone to check and only saw the words “Hi it’s Dan” flash across his screen before his chest convulsed and the urge to cough overtook him.  
Rosin coughed and coughed, his throat raw until he saw a speck of red on his cold wooden floor. He staggered to the bathroom, still coughing, the trail of red behind his every footstep.

Rosin collapsed onto his knees and heaved and coughed until the fit passed, and he was left lying, exhausted and drained, against the cold cruel tiles. His eyes drifted in and out of focus until his vision finally zoomed in on what he had discharged from his lungs.

Petals.  
Bright red petals had exploded from his throat, coating the floor.  
Rosin’s eyes widened in shock, as he realised what he had contracted.  
The Hanahaki Disease. A disease where catching unrequited feelings for someone, caused the victim to expel flowers and petals from their lungs.  
He would continue to discharge bright red petals, until he choked or had surgery, removing both the disease and feelings for the person who caused the disease. Or until the thorns, that the petals had transformed into rip his throat out. 

Rosin didn’t want surgery. He was sure.  
Dan must have caused this. Dan was the only new person Rosin had met for a long time. The disease usually developed within twenty-four to thirty-six hours of the feelings developing. He was certain it was Dan.  
But, he didn’t know what to do. 

After hours of lying motionlessly, on the cold hard floor of his bathroom, Rosin decided on a plan.  
He’d have to keep living with this until it got better. Or he died.

The following week was even worse.  
After spotting Dan laughing with a co-worker, Rosin had an attack so violent, the petals were all smeared with dark red blood. He could feel the thorns were starting to form.  
Dan texted him constantly at home, so Rosin was never safe. He began to vomit in the evenings as well; the sick scent of the blood mingling with the perfume of the roses. He had begun to stagger around his apartment, trying to get away from the smell, desperately trying to get the blood off his clothes. He tripped and fell, fracturing his skull.

He survived, and no surgery for the disease took place, as the doctors were only able to remove it, without his consent if he was dying. 

Rosin began to hate it.  
He hated the sick smell of the roses and the blood mingling.  
He hated the feeling of the flowers and thorns tearing up his throat and lungs every time he saw Dan.  
Most of all, he hated himself, for being unable to get rid of it.  
Until, one day, it became too much.

On September 28th, 2031, Rosin Brennan jumped. He jumped off his apartment building and began hurtling towards the ground.  
Down and down, he fell, coughing up the petals as he went. Until Rosin Brennan landed. The sick crack of his back hitting the pavement echoed through streets of London. The petals, slick with blood, swept over him and covered him like a blanket. 

In a cruel twist of fate, Dan opened Rosin Brennan’s funeral, placing a single red rose on his grave.  
The gravestone read “Rosin Brennan.” and below a translation of his name. “Rose Sorrow.”


End file.
